


Stranger Things Have Happened

by vix_spes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Friendship, Getting Together, Hints of Sam Wilson/Steve Rogers, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Olympics, Veterans, sniper bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: It was just supposed to be a meet and greet with a select few Olympic athletes followed by a parade but, for Phil Coulson and Clint Barton, it turned out to be so much more.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crayyyonn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/gifts).



> crayyyonn, I've had great fun writing this and I hope that you enjoy it! Massive thanks to H and I for all of their help cheerleading and beta-ing

As far as Clint was concerned, there were far worse things that he had had to do as an athlete than the periodic meet and greets or parades that are required of the US Olympic team. Considering that he is the most successful American Olympic archer – hell, the most successful archer in American history ever – that’s a very good thing because he does a lot of them. He might not be the most recognizable member of the Olympic squad – that honor belongs to Natasha or Steve, maybe even Bucky as they do the sports that people actually watch (in Natasha and Steve’s cases) and are ridiculously attractive to boot – but that doesn’t bother him. It’s not as if he’s in this for the fans or the adulation.

Clint had never planned on being an Olympian for a career or even a professional athlete. He’d never really planned on being a professional anything other than jailbird and that wasn’t exactly by choice.

He’d been lucky.

Well, maybe lucky was a bit of an overstatement considering everything that he’d gone through before getting lucky. He’d had the type of life that the newspapers and journalists loved, that they would seize on as perfect fodder for their articles. There was the deadbeat dad who killed himself and Clint’s mom in a drunken accident when Clint was a kid, how Clint and his brother had run away from foster car and joined the circus only for Clint to end up seriously injured and betrayed in the hospital with his brother eventually in jail.

It had been in hospital that Clint’s life had – finally – taken a turn for the better; one of his nurses had ended up fostering him and giving him the type of home that he had always wanted at the age of 15. It had been with his foster parent’s encouragement that Clint had applied himself to school, managing to do well enough to win an ROTC scholarship to Washington State University.

It had been there, in ROTC, that he had first met Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes. Best friends since childhood, they had decided to attend the same university and even shared a dorm. Despite the extensive history between them, they had welcomed Clint with open arms and the three of them had become inseparable and, when they graduated, all three of them had shipped out together. They had stuck together as best as they could through promotions, transfers, black ops missions, ambushes and IED’s and when Bucky was honorably discharged with a prosthetic where his left arm had once been, Steve and Clint had followed him, no questions asked.

They had ended up in Washington D.C., clear across the country from where they'd gone to school. The primary reason for that was because Bucky ended up at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center for treatment once they returned to the States and neither Steve nor Clint had wanted to abandon him or force him to undergo PT by himself. It had been the best decision they'd made, not only for Bucky but for themselves. Being in Washington meant that they had met Sam Wilson at the VA which had set the various events in motion that had brought Clint, and later Bucky, back to the attention of the Olympic selection committee and the life that he now lived.

In gratitude, Clint has always done his best to pay it back. He was always one of the first to volunteer for visits to schools and hospitals, donated to a whole bunch of charities and helped coach on a couple of archery training camps through the summer. Clint wasn’t an idiot; he knew that he wasn’t going to stay on the Olympic team forever. He was starting to get old and the fresh blood was starting to nip at his heels so he was starting to think about what he was going to do once he retired from competitive archery. As much as he liked the idea of lazing around eating pizza and watching crap TV all day, he knew that he’d get bored before long so that was out. There was also the fact that Maria, his manager, would undoubtedly kill him.

What he was starting to do was play around with the idea of coaching full time. With plenty of encouragement from Natasha, he was starting to complete his coaching qualifications but, no matter how often Natasha hit him around the head and called him an idiot, he still wasn’t convinced that he would make a good teacher. It didn’t matter that he already coached on a couple of summer courses or that he helped out with the junior Olympians, he couldn’t help but feel like teaching full time was something big and scary and way beyond him.

Then again, who says that he has to retire yet? Maybe he’s got one more Olympics in him. It’s only four years after all and he did kick total ass this year as shown by the two gold medals to add to his tally. As long as his arms and shoulders hold up, there’s nothing to say that he can’t do it all over again in Tokyo. He jumped as he felt hard metal jab into his ribs and turned to glare at the culprit.

“What the fuck was that for, Barnes?”

“Stop daydreaming and put your ears in. They want you.”

“Huh?” Clint was too busy rubbing at his side - because metal fucking hurt - to truly pay attention to what Bucky was saying. Of course, that was the point that Natasha stomped on his foot in her sharp, pointy shoes (she’d told him the name a hundred times but he just found it easier to refer to them as lethal weapons). Turning towards her to protest his abuse, he saw her fingers flashing furiously through signs and fumbled to put his ears in just in time to hear the tail end of the announcer’s introduction.

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen, please bear with us. Our Olympians have been doing an awful lot of traveling over the last few days and they’re rather tired but here we go. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please give a big cheer for Clint Barton, six-time gold medalist at the Olympics and current world champion for both compound and recurve bows.”

Clint stood forward and waved as the gathered crowds cheered. When they didn’t stop after a couple of minutes, he couldn’t help but duck his head bashfully and scratch at the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to this kind of reception; this was the kind of reception that Steve and Natasha got, not Clint. He was usually skulking around with Bucky in the background making inappropriate comments and bad jokes.

To Clint’s relief, the emcee was actually pretty switched on and, realizing that Clint was uncomfortable, swiftly moved on to introducing the next athlete and let Clint step back in relief. Once he was no longer the focus of the crowd’s scrutiny, he allowed his eyes to scan the gathered throngs. It was the same kind of thing as usual; mostly families, sports fans and college girls who looked as though they were a heartbeat away from throwing their panties at Steve, swiftly followed by themselves. Steve had had some really weird fans over the years – two that had even required restraining orders – and Clint counted his lucky stars that his fans tended to veer more towards the Robin Hood geeks than the weirdos although he’d received a few odd dirty letters over the years in addition to the odd marriage proposal.

And there was another reason for not retiring just yet; it wasn’t as though Clint had anyone waiting for him outside of the Olympic Team. Or any options either. Kate had set him up on a couple of those online dating websites and he'd had a few messages from people, even gone on a couple of dates but none of them had ever gone anywhere and he was still single. He wasn't even that picky; men or women, he'd been attracted to both over the years. Hell, he'd even been married once when he'd been back stateside for a brief stint to Bobbi Morse, another officer that he'd met on deployment, but it hadn't worked and they'd ended up divorcing. She was still in the service but it was all amicable and they were good friends. Still, it smarted that his friends were sorting their shit out - Natasha and Bucky finally seemed to have resolved their epic UST and Steve had some sort of thing with Sam - and Clint was still failing in the dating department pretty epically.

He loved being in a relationship, wanted to be in one but not only did he have to find someone, he actually had to find someone and then not fuck it up. Not the easiest thing when the best way to describe Clint and relationships was a train-wreck. In an ideal world, he'd find someone as bad at relationships as him and they could fuck it up together but what were the chances of that? He hissed in pain as he took Bucky’s metal arm to the ribs for a second time in the space of thirty minutes.

“What the hell?”

“It's time to go Clint. What's with you today? You're even more of a birdbrain than usual.”

“I'm not a birdbrain.”

“Hey, don't get offended, I'm just callin’ it like I see it.”

“Tasha,” Clint whined at Bucky's better half and - more importantly - his best friend, “your boyfriend's being mean to me.”

Natasha’s response was to simply arch a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “He's not my boyfriend. And we're in public boys, could you please at least try to give the impression that you're adults? Now get a move on, it's time for lunch.”

“Oooh, food!”

"I give up." **  
**

(~*~)

The afternoon was the type of thing that Clint had grown to really like about these shindigs. After all of the introductions and waving was done, they got down to the personal meet and greets and signing sessions. Clint liked these, like the opportunity to interact with people, to really get to know the fans. He was nearly at the end of his session when he was suddenly bombarded by a whole host of questions about physics and aerodynamics and a whole host of things that he really hadn’t been expecting. Raising his head tentatively, he blinked several times at the sight in front of him. A rather gangly teenager was there, still talking a mile a minute about physics problems that Clint had never considered until he went to college, clutching the hand of a rather small girl. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the little girl was clutching a toy bow and arrow set just as tightly as her brother’s hand and he did his best to smile encouragingly at the pair of them (and hopefully not terrify them in the process).

It seemed to work. The teenager stopped to take a breath before continuing with his litany of questions that Clint did his utmost to follow and answer, feeling very much as though he was back in college being quizzed by his professors. In comparison, the little girl didn’t utter a word and simply pushed her bow forward for Clint to sign, something that he did with alacrity. As soon as he was done, the bow was snatched back and cradled protectively against her chest, causing Clint to smile.

“Thanks, Mr Barton.”

“My pleasure, kid. You really made me think with some of those questions. It was nice to meet you guys.”

Clint watched as the boy led the little girl - his sister? - away, the little girl constantly sneaking glances back at Clint over her shoulder. They were met at the edge of the crowd by a man and, if Clint hadn't been curious already, he definitely was now! The man looked a bit older than Clint but about the same height. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans that fitted perfectly and a Henley that showed off the breadth of his shoulders and hinted at the musculature underneath. To top it all off, he was wearing thick-framed black glasses that made him look ridiculously attractive in a kind of nerdy way.

“You have exactly the same look on your face that Lucky gets when he smells pizza. The only thing missing is the drooling. What are you staring at?”

Clint let out a huff as Bucky slung his prosthetic over Clint’s shoulders, following his gaze easily.

“So, I assume it's Hot Dad that you're perving over because the other two are illegal. Don't really see it myself but you've made worse choices over the years.”

“Hey!” Clint attempted to sound outraged but, well, Bucky's words did have some merit and he was a little distracted as Hot Dad had just smiled at something the little girl had said and it made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, making him look even more attractive.

“Why don't you ask for his number?”

“What? No, I'm not going to do that. Besides, he's got kids, why would he be interested?”

“He's divorced, he's widowed, he's bisexual, he's their uncle, you're attractive? There's plenty of reasons for him to be interested. You’re really not going to do anything? Flirt? Ask for a phone number? Nothing? Fine, if you're going to be a pussy about it, let's go and get some food before the rest of this circus.”

Clint allowed himself to be led away, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Hot Dad before sending a sly glance towards Bucky.

“So, Buck, you think I'm hot, huh?”

“No, you misheard me. I said you're a dick. You can't have your ears in properly.”

“They are in properly. No take-backs, you think I'm hot. What's Natasha going to say?”

“Remind me why I like you again, Barton?”

“My ass, my arms, my wit, there's so many things…” 

~*~

Several hours later, having stuffed himself with so much food he just wanted to fall into a food coma, Clint found himself gathered with everyone else for a parade given that this was going to be the last event that they had to attend before having their well-earned breaks prior to resuming training. The gathered crowds had already been entertained by the massed bands from a few local high schools and were just waiting for the athletes to appear once more before the highlight of the evening in the form of a huge fireworks display. As he waited on the side-lines, Clint caught sight of the two kids he had met earlier right at the front of the crowds pressed up against the barriers although there was no sign of Hot Dad. Clint found that his eyes kept being drawn to them as he moved onto the podium and, as a result, when the crowd – whipped up by the entertainment and undoubtedly a few beers in some cases - surged forwards at the announcement of the athletes, pressing them against the barriers, he was moving before he could even think about it.

Leaping off the podium and sprinting forward, Clint was there in seconds, pushing people away with a snarled “back the fuck off”. Leaning over the barriers and wondering where the hell the security guys were, he scooped the little girl into his arms, getting clouted in the head by the wooden bow and helping the teenager get enough traction and space to climb over the barrier by himself. By the time that Clint was sprawled on his back with the kids, security were there, trying to control things somewhat unsuccessfully.

“You guys alright? Where are your parents?”

Before either child could answer, Clint heard a cry of “Skye! Fitz!” and Hot Dad was all but sprinting towards them, dropping to his knees at Clint’s side. Clint let out a grunt as the little girl - Skye - kneed him in the crotch as she scrambled over him to get into her dad's arms while question boy - Fitz - wavered for all of thirty seconds before collapsing against the man.

“Thank you for saving them. They wanted to get a better view and I lost them in the crowd.”

Clint scratched his neck and resisted the urge to check that his balls were still in one piece after the beating they'd taken. “Oh, uh, no problem. We met earlier actually, so I wasn't exactly going to let them get crushed. Not that I'd let anyone get crushed. Umm, I'm Clint by the way, Clint Barton.”

“I know who you are, Mr Barton. I'm Phil Coulson and these are my children, Fitz and Skye.”


	2. Chapter Two

Phil Coulson felt as though he was about to have a heart attack when both Skye and Fitz disappeared from his sight, getting swallowed up by the crowds in seconds. Sadly, this sensation had become all too frequent since he had brought Skye home eighteen months ago but that didn’t mean that he had become used to it. Not in the slightest. Skye was far more adventurous than Fitz had been, far more inquisitive and uncaring about the scrapes that she got herself into. If Coulson’s hair hadn’t already been thinning then the arrival of Skye would have started the process. There was no way that he was going to be able to follow them through the crowds so he decided to do the best thing that he could think of, flashed his badge at the security guards and hoped for the best. It may be an abuse of his powers but he really didn’t care when his children could be in danger.

He’d never intended to end up as a single dad in his late forties (hell, he’d never intended to be a dad at all) but that was the way that things had happened and he didn’t regret any of it. Fitz and Skye may have been unexpected but he couldn’t have loved them more if they were his own flesh and blood, even if he didn’t always understand what Fitz was saying and Skye seemed determined to try and give him a heart attack with some of her antics.

Fitz had come into his life first, about five years ago now, when the boy had only been ten. His parents had been killed in a bank robbery and there were no other relations except for a very elderly grandmother in England, who made it perfectly clear that taking the boy was not an option for her. With no other options other than calling in CPS and with Fitz having attached himself to Phil as a silent shadow, Phil had taken the boy home with him. Years ago, their boss Nick Fury had thought it a good idea that several of the more senior members of the team become certified foster carers just in case of situations like this and so both Phil and his partner Melinda had ended up doing all of the necessary courses. Even so, Phil had never actually ended up looking after a child although Melinda and her husband Jasper had taken in a few over the years.

At the time that Fitz appeared in his life, Phil had been in a relatively serious long-term relationship with an attorney by the name of Grant Ward. Ward was slightly younger than Phil and hugely ambitious, determined to make partner as quickly as he possibly could, so went after lots of high-profile clients, all of which required attending lots of dinners and galas in the evening as he attempted to woo them. They hadn’t been living together officially but, after four years together, had certainly discussed it. Grant hadn’t been overly enthusiastic at the news that Phil was going to be fostering a pre-teen for a few days but had been mollified by Phil’s reassurance that it was just going to be a few days.

Only, Phil realized that he didn’t want it to just be a few days pretty quickly. Fitz found himself a niche in Phil’s life and, within days, it seemed as though he had been there forever. Phil found that he liked finishing work at a regular hour and coming home to help Fitz with his homework (although it became clear pretty early on that no help whatsoever was needed with maths and physics). Dinner was a work in progress but they had scraped by on takeaways and easy meals until Phil learnt to cook properly or at least not burn every single meal. It took a while for Phil to notice but, the more ensconced that Fitz became in Phil’s life, the more that Grant withdrew. It was a telling statement that it was only when Phil went to file the paperwork to make Fitz’s life with him permanent that he realized just how long it had been since he had seen Grant and, not only that, but the fact that he didn’t miss him in the slightest. Not seeing any point in fighting for something when Grant clearly hadn’t wanted to fight, Phil had let things slide with just a hint of regret and settled into the life of a single dad.

He'd tried dating again a few years later when Fitz was 13; a cellist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra by the name of Audrey. She had been lovely, they had been happy and, perhaps most importantly, Fitz had liked her but, it wasn’t to be. She had been offered a better job in Portland and, though Phil seriously considered her offer for himself and Fitz to go with her, in the end he didn’t want to uproot Fitz and neither did he want to leave his job. So, he and Audrey had parted ways with both of them reassuring Fitz that their break-up had nothing to do with him.

And then, two months after the break-up with Audrey came ‘the incident’.

They’d been working on a case for months and every time they thought they’d reached the bottom of things, they simply found another layer full of twists and turns. They’d had to put pretty much the entire department on it in the hope that more manpower would help solve it quicker. They were as certain as they could be that the lynchpin of it all as a rather shady Scandinavian businessman but they couldn’t actually tie him to anything. And it seemed like they had a lead, something that meant they could actually take the guy down and get him extradited where he would undoubtedly be looking at spending the rest of his life behind bars and Phil would be leading the team.

To an extent, it had worked. Not only did they manage to capture the man himself, one Loki Laufeyson, they also managed to get the evidence they needed to all but guarantee his imprisonment. However, Phil had been stabbed in the process by Laufeyson himself, the act of which was the final nail in the case against him. Phil had been rushed straight to emergency room and into theater but he had been dead on the table for thirty minutes before they managed to revive him. He had been in hospital for three months, two of which were spent in the ICU, before he was released and allowed to return home, while Fitz returned from the May/Sitwell home where he’d been living while Phil was in hospital. It was then just over a year of brutal PT before he had been allowed back to work on the strict proviso that he was restricted to desk duty only.

He had barely been off restricted duties a month when Skye catapulted into their lives. Far more outgoing than Fitz, Skye had shown up at the front desk of their station, announced that the people at the orphanage where she lived were mistreating the children and she was running away for good if the police couldn’t find her a nice home. Amid their chuckles, they duly investigated in order to appease her only, to their horror, to find that she was right. As they put all of the children with foster parents, Skye finagled Phil into taking her home with him, attaching herself to Phil and Fitz like a limpet, quickly carving herself a spot at the heart of the Coulson family and ensuring that they would never abandon her.

To his relief (although the LEO in him wanted to reprimand them and then report them to their superior), the security guards barely raised an eyebrow at him when he waved his badge and simply waved him on through the barriers. It may have been to his benefit but he couldn’t help be somewhat amazed that the US Olympic Committee had hired such a slapdash security company given the number of high-profile athletes that were in attendance. He got into a prime viewing point just as Skye and Fitz appeared at the front of the crowd, Skye’s head just clearing the top of the barriers and he sagged in relief that they were both okay and still with each other.

And then his heart was back in his mouth as, just as the athletes were announced, the crowds surged forwards crushing his kids against the barriers. Although shock kept him frozen in place for several interminably long seconds, Phil was soon on the move, running as fast as he could towards Fitz and Skye. Even his fastest wasn’t quick enough though and he cursed the man who had attacked him on the job two years ago, narrowly missing his heart, nicking his left lung and generally making it a miracle that he was still alive at all. Usually he was grateful that he had survived at all but, at this particular moment, he resented that he was no longer quick enough to get to his children’s aid.

But then someone _was_ there to help them.

It seemed as though Phil had merely blinked and, in that fraction of a second, Clint Barton himself had made it from the athletes’ podium to the barriers and already had Skye in his arms. Phil forced himself to keep moving forward as Barton reached out with the arm that wasn't holding Skye close to him and helped Fitz clamber over the barrier, staggering back and slumping to the ground just as security finally seemed to come to life.

Phil reached them at a dead run, panting for breath as he collapsed to the ground next to the pile consisting of his children and one Olympic archer, holding out his arms for Skye to scramble into and wincing in sympathy as Skye nailed Barton in the balls; he was very familiar with just how sharp and pointy Skye’s elbows and knees were. Fitz wasn't far behind Skye, for all that he protested he was too old for cuddles and hugs, pressing as close to Phil as he could with Skye in his lap and settling in as Phil wrapped an arm around him. Phil kissed both their heads before looking up at their savior, a grateful look on his face.

“Thank you for saving them. They wanted to get a better view and I lost them in the crowd.”

He watched as Barton scratched his neck, finding the action somewhat endearing, and just about suppressed the urge to laugh when the archer not so subtly checked that his crotch was undamaged after Skye’s rather ungainly scramble. “Oh, uh, no problem. We met earlier actually, so I wasn't exactly going to let them get crushed. Not that I'd let anyone get crushed. Umm, I'm Clint by the way, Clint Barton.”

Phil couldn't help but chuckle at the introduction, that Clint thought he really needed to introduce himself; the archer was very popular with all three members of the Coulson family. “I know who you are, Mr Barton. I'm Phil Coulson and these are my children, Fitz and Skye.”

“Cool, nice to meet you both. We didn't manage to get around to names earlier.”

“And you can deal with any further pleasantries in privacy.”

Another person joined their group and Phil just about managed to keep from gawping when he realized that it was Natasha Romanov.

“Clint, they want you backstage while they deal with all of this.” Clearly pre-empting Clint’s protests, she held up a hand. “The Coulson’s are more than welcome to come with us. I'd advise it in fact; our medics are rather keen to check the children over.”

Phil protested at that point. “That's really not necessary. I've got first aid training and I can take them to see their pediatrician if I need to; I don't want to cause any trouble.”

“Mr Coulson, you're not causing trouble at all. The simple truth is that this needs to be done in order to avoid any legal ramifications for the US Olympic Committee in the future. Besides, our medical team are used to dealing with the likes of Clint and James and I sincerely doubt that either of your children could be more problematic than those two.”

“Oh, I'm not sure about that. Skye can probably give them a run for their money but if you're sure it's okay, that would be great.”

“It's fine. Let's get you out of here.”

They had done little more than step foot inside the backstage area before Skye and Fitz were being taken from Phil’s arms, Skye putting up a fuss until she was easily distracted with chocolate. Phil made to follow them only to be stopped by a hand to the chest and, when he turned, he saw that it belonged to Barton.

“They’ll be fine, Bruce and Betty will take good care of them. We’ll watch them from over here and you can have some coffee, recover from the shock yourself. Bruce and Betty will work quicker if you’re not hovering.”

Phil sent one last look in the direction of his children and then followed Clint, wondering whether he should warn the archer that if he wasn’t careful then Phil’s children were going to attach themselves to him like limpets and he was going to be hard-pressed to get rid of them. 

(~*~)

Phil hadn’t been wrong.

Leaving proved to be a little tricky. Skye and Fitz had absolutely no desire to leave their new best friends and kicked up quite the fuss when Phil announced that it was time to leave. Fitz turned sullen and petulant while Skye appeared to be more than ready to throw a tantrum of epic proportions. Nothing seemed able to placate Fitz or Skye, not even Phil pointing out that these people had already spent several unexpected hours with them.

After being pronounced fine by Bruce and Betty, Skye had ensconced herself on Clint’s lap and refused to leave, staring up at him with wide, adoring eyes. Fitz, on the other hand, had started off asking Clint a series of questions about the technicalities of firing a bow before it became apparent that Clint was struggling to split his attention between the two. By dint of the fact that she was in his lap, Skye was an early victor but Fitz was soon placated by the fact that, as a marksman, James Barnes could answer almost the same questions that Fitz had wanted to ask Clint.

With both of his children occupied, it meant that Phil had the perfect opportunity to simply watch Clint Barton. He liked what he saw. A lot.

Phil hadn't been lying when he had said that Clint Barton was a Coulson family favorite even if they hadn't really known he existed until a few months ago. Despite her outgoing personality, Skye hadn't had many friends at school until a new girl by the name of Darcy had joined her class. Like Skye, Darcy was a bubbly, outgoing brunette. Darcy was also a foster child and the two had bonded on that level, Darcy able to understand that aspect of Skye’s past in a way none of the other children could. It was Darcy's obsession with a bow-wielding Disney Princess that had brought archery into Coulson family life.

All of a sudden, everything had to be Brave-themed and all sorts of things from Skye’s clothing to her bedding _needed_ to be emblazoned with Merida. Phil had no real objections to any of it. Other than insisting that she wanted to stay with Phil and Fitz rather than be placed with another foster family, Skye had been very quiet about what she wanted, as though if she asked for too much then she would be sent away. She had slowly been coming to the realization that that really wasn't the case but it had been the arrival of Darcy that had really given Skye's self-confidence a much needed boost and if Phil needed to buy out the Disney store in response then he had enough money to do that. Although if he could listen to something other than the Brave soundtrack once in a-while, he would be a happy man.

The discovery of Clint Barton had come at the beginning of the holidays. While Phil had had to work one day, Darcy’s foster father Thor had taken her, Skye and Fitz to a summer camp for the day. One of the activities on offer had been archery and both girls had been ecstatic that they could have a go at being just like Merida, while Fitz had been intrigued enough to go. Fitz’s attempt had proven that the conclusion he had come to in school sports class applied to any physical pursuit; he simply wasn't that way inclined. The girls however, proved to be rather good at it. Complete naturals as the instructor put it.

Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of mentioning this when the girls could hear. Fitz had told Phil that he'd never heard noises like it and that he was sure some of the noises were so high that only bats could hear them. The drawn look on Thor’s face had confirmed Fitz’s words and Phil had willingly shelled out for a crate of Thor’s preferred (and rather pricey) craft beer in thanks. It had been in the resulting Internet search for archery lessons that they had come across Clint Barton and the US Olympic archery squad. Skye had been enraptured by all of them (and had loved that there were women competing) but preferred Clint because ‘he was the best’ while Fitz was fascinated by the man's ability to consistently hit bullseye which had provoked much theorizing on physics and maths with Darcy's foster mom, Jane.

As for Phil. Well, let's just say that Phil had always had a bit of a weakness for a nice pair of arms and a great ass.

“You're drooling.”

The words made him start and he reflexively wiped at his mouth at the redhead who had apparently materialized next to him. When he didn't find anything, he glared.

“I'm not! And warn someone before you sneak up on them; I'm prime heart attack age.”

“Please, I have no doubt you're as healthy as an ox. Besides, you may not have been drooling yet but it was only a matter of time. You could always go and talk to him, you know. James said that Clint was referring to you as Hot Dad earlier.”

Phil had to take a minute to process her words. Hot dad? Him? He didn't think he'd ever been referred to as hot in his life and that wasn't low self-esteem or anything else, he just wouldn't describe himself as hot. He didn't quite believe her words so he found himself checking that his hearing hadn't suddenly failed him without warning.

“He said that? Really?”

“Yes, he really said that. According to James, Clint was gawking at you rather obviously; he never did quite understand the concept of subtlety.”

Phil could feel his cheeks flush and he didn't need to check that the tips of his ears had also gone pink. His blush deepened as Natasha gave a low chuckle.

“You want my advice? Don't let your children monopolize him because he's a pushover and he'll let them and I don't want him moping once you've gone that he didn't have a chance to talk to you.”

Phil just blinked. Some pretty strange things had happened to him over the years but he was pretty sure that this had shot straight into the number one spot. His children were currently talking the ears off two Olympic gold-medalists and not only that but Skye was currently sat in the lap of one of said Olympians. Meanwhile, Phil was being told by yet another multi gold-medalist to go and flirt with the Olympian whose lap Phil’s daughter currently occupied. It was like the script for a bad Lifetime movie.

Receiving a not so gentle shove to the small of his back Phil stumbled forward, noticing as he did so how Barton’s eyes snapped towards him and his smile widened, completely transforming the man's face.

Well, it wasn't as though a bit of flirting could hurt, was it?

 (~*~)

It took a ridiculous amount of cajoling to get Skye and Fitz to even consider leaving and, in the end, Phil had been forced to resort to bribery for both kids. Any other day and Phil might have given in to them - it wasn't as though he wanted to leave and stop talking to Clint - but it was a Sunday night, they had school in the morning and he had to try to keep some semblance of a routine. As he watched Skye and Fitz say their farewells, Phil debated whether or not he should give Clint his phone number or if that was too forward. They had been flirting but maybe Phil was reading too much into things? He'd been out of the dating world for too long and he'd forgotten how things worked. In the end, he decided to not to take the risk and simply said his own goodbyes, reiterated his thanks to Clint - which were waved off - and then chivvied his children back in the direction of their car. He had maybe got four or five hundred yards away when he heard someone calling out to him.

“Coulson! Hey, wait up!”

Phil turned around at the shout, seeing James Barnes jogging towards him. Cautioning Fitz and Skye to not move, he retraced his steps and met the marksman halfway. “Mr Barnes. How can I help you?”

“Look, Clint won't ever do this himself so I'll do it for him. Besides, he's convinced himself of at least twenty reasons why you wouldn't be interested. Me, I think he's talking shit and you are interested in him; you wouldn't have been flirting with him like you were. Natasha agrees with me and you have her approval otherwise this wouldn’t be happening. So, here's his number; do with it what you will.”

Barnes didn't hang around once he'd all but forced the scrap of paper into Phil’s hand and he was a good ten feet away when Phil finally found his voice. “Mr Barnes? Does Clint know you've given me this?”

“No. I didn't want to get his hopes up in case you didn't call. The ball's in your court, Coulson.”

With that, Barnes turned to leave for the final time, leaving Phil staring contemplatively at the phone number in his hand.

 ~*~

“Dad?”

Phil looked up from his work at the sound of Fitz’s voice, seeing his son standing in the doorway of the room that Phil had claimed as his home office. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I was just wondering if I could talk to you about something?”

“Of course! You never have to ask that. Come in, come in. What did you want to ask me?”

Clearing off a seat and sitting down, Fitz wasted no time in asking his question. “Are you going to ask Mr Barton out?”

“What? Fitz, what made you ask me that?”

“I know Mr Barnes gave you a phone number and I think I'm right that it's Mr Bartons. So, is it? Are you going to phone him?”

“Does your sister know about this?”

“I'm not stupid, dad. No, if Skye knew then we'd be scraping her off the ceiling. I haven't mentioned it to her.”

“Good.” Phil took a deep breath. “Okay, so if, hypothetically speaking, I did have Clint - Mr Barton’s - number, how would you feel about me asking him out?”

“I think it'd be a good idea. He was cool and he stared at you a lot as well. Maybe just don't tell Skye though if he says yes, you don't want to scare him off. Oh, and you should ask Thor for advice on where to take him.”

Phil felt a wry smile cross his lips. “I have dated before, Fitz.”

“I know but Audrey was a long time ago; what if things have changed? You can’t screw this up!”

“Okay, I promise to talk to Thor if Mr Barton agrees to go out with me.” Phil turned back to his work, happy that Fitz would be okay if he decided to date again, only to look up in confusion when he didn’t hear Fitz leaving. “Was there something else that you wanted to talk to me about, Fitz?”

“Why aren’t you phoning him now?”

Phil blinked, “You want me to call him and ask him out now? While you listen?”

“How else am I going to know that you’ve actually done it?”

Phil couldn’t believe that his own teenage son was going to stand over him until he’d phoned Clint and asked him on a date; truly he’d sunk to a new low. Focusing desperately on not blushing, he reached for his wallet and the rather crumpled piece of paper that he had tucked there for safety, one that was now rather battered from the number of times that he had taken it out and traced his fingers over the numbers in the last two days. Not that he needed to look at it. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and dialed the number that he had memorized mere hours after Barnes had given it to him.

“Hello? Mr … Clint? It’s Phil Coulson, Fitz … yes, Fitz and Skye’s dad. I was just phoning because, well, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner some time? Friday? Yes, yes that would be great. No, I’ll be able to get a babysitter, that won’t be a problem. Great, I’ll give you a ring on Thursday to sort out the details? Great, I’ll talk to you then. Bye.”

Phil hung up the phone and looked over to his son. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

Ecstatic. Well, at least one of them was. Phil was experiencing something more akin to terror than ecstasy. Oh god, he had a date with Clint Barton.

Fuck.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Four years later...

Bending forward to allow the official to hang the gold medal around his neck, Clint accepted the bouquet, shook hands with both officials and thanked them before he straightened up as the opening chords of The Star-Spangled Banner rang out. He had done it. Gold in team and individual events in four consecutive Olympics. He had done it despite the injuries and everything else that had happened in his personal life over the last four years. Clint could feel his mouth moving, forming the words that he knew so well, even as his mind drifted elsewhere. One marriage, two kids and one major surgery and Clint was still the greatest archer in American history.

As the final strains of the National Anthem faded away, Clint raised a hand to acknowledge the crowds one more time before he stepped down off the podium. Shaking hands with the guys who had come in second and third place respectively, he then headed straight for the spot in the stands that his gaze had been fixed on for the last thirty minutes, not caring that he still had the Stars and Stripes draped around his shoulders.

“Daddy, you won!”

Skye practically launched herself out of the stands as he approached and he dived forward, just catching her in his arms and getting clunked in the head by her ‘Go Hawkeye!’ sign, in an action reminiscent of their first meeting. Truthfully, at ten years old, Skye was getting a bit too big to be carried but, as long as she wanted to be, Clint would indulge her. The muscles in his arms still burned pleasantly as a result of the workout that he'd given them so he boosted Skye further up his hip, just to be certain that he wouldn't drop her before leaning over to receive a one-armed hug from a now nineteen-year-old Fitz. Keeping Skye in his arms, Clint leant over and slipped his hand around the back of Phil’s neck, using the grip to pull him into an exultant kiss. The screams and cheers of the crowds suddenly doubled in volume and Clint knew that the cameras had tracked his movements, projecting their kiss onto the big screens surrounding the stadium. As he pulled back, his cheeks were aching, his grin was that wide.

“So, how does it feel to be married to an eight-time Olympic gold medalist and current world champion archer?”

Phil’s answering smile made his eyes crinkle in the way that Clint loved and he couldn't resist stealing another kiss. This one was accompanied by Skye’s giggles and Fitz’s groans at the display of public affection from their parents.

“Pretty damn good. How does it feel to be an eight-time Olympic gold medalist and current world champion archer?”

“Pretty damn good.” Clint smirked as he parroted his husband's words.

“You don't have to do this, Clint. Not if you're not ready.”

Clint’s smile dimmed slightly at Phil’s reference to what was coming next. “It's going to be strange but it's the right decision. To be honest, it's a miracle my shoulder held out for this. I want to go out at the top, go out while it's my choice.”

“That's all I wanted to know. Go on, Maria’s waiting for you. We'll be there when you've finished.”

Turning his head, Clint saw Phil was right and his manager was hovering, waiting to escort him to the press conference that she'd organized at his request. He pressed a kiss to Skye’s head and then passed her over to Phil before making his way over to Maria Hill, sports manager extraordinaire - well, she’d have to be considering that both Clint and Bucky fell under her purview.

“You sure about this, Barton?”

“Yes. It's the right decision. You gonna abandon me as soon as I'm off the Olympic squad, Hill?”

“Not a chance. With the requests that have been flooding in over the last couple of days, I'm planning on getting my commission for a long time yet. Besides, as good as that husband of yours is, I don't trust you without supervision.”

“Love you too, Hill.”

“Whatever. Come on, let's go and get this over with.”

 (~*~)

“It's true then. Clint Barton, world champion and Olympian is retiring from competitive archery having won his seventh and eighth consecutive gold medals.”

Clint turned to shoot Bucky a wry grin. “You knew it was happening. We talked about it. Besides, stranger things have happened.”

“There was an awful lot of alcohol involved when we talked; how was I supposed to know you were serious? And yeah, I guess they have. How about rescuing two kids from being crushed by a crowd and ending up with a date with their dad? Then marrying him and adopting said kids within 18 months?”

Clint quirked an eyebrow. “Rescuing a one-eyed dog from tracksuit wearing Russian mafia?”

“Okay, then maybe stranger things _have_ happened, but only to you. Only you could have done all of that.”

Clint was distracted by a flash of movement entering the room and craned his neck around the doorframe to see that Phil, Fitz and Skye had just slipped in the back of the room. Fitz was attempting to adopt a look of disinterest but failing pretty miserably while Skye caught his eye and started waving furiously at him.

“You know what? That’s fine by me.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. And it’s all thanks to me.”

Clint tore his eyes away from his family, _his family_ , at Bucky’s words to stare at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well you being this blissfully and, quite frankly, sickeningly happy is all thanks to me. I mean, I was the one who gave Phil your number. Otherwise you would have just pined after Hot Dad.”

“I would not! I'd have got his number somehow. I wouldn't have just pined; I don’t pine!”

The sound of heels clicking on the floor announced the arrival of Natasha, impeccably dressed in the official uniform from the opening ceremony; a complete contrast to Clint who was even managing to look rumpled in his team tracksuit.

“I'm afraid that I'm going to have to agree with James this time, little bird. You would have pined. However, I wouldn't say that your current happiness is down to him. After all, it was me who told your Phil to come and talk to you and it was me who gave his number to James. Therefore, you should be thanking me. I will discuss payment later but you should expect it to involve shoes and vodka.”

Clint resisted the urge to cross his arms and pout as his two closest friends ganged up on him. “Okay fine, you two may have been the ones to get us together but I've done the whole relationship thing successfully by myself. We're married and everything!”

“Having heard stories of your first date, Barton, I think that's down to your better half and not you.”

There was a teasing smirk playing on Hill’s lips as she spoke and, not for the first time, Clint regretted introducing his manager and his best friend.

“Now, despite the fact that teasing Barton never gets old, they're ready for us. I know you won't, but last chance to back out Clint.”

“No, let's do it.”

Shooting one more glance towards Phil and receiving a reassuring smile in response, Clint took a deep breath and walked into the room, heading straight for one of the two seats behind the table set with microphones, trusting that Maria was right behind him. As soon as they caught sight of him, the noise grew exponentially and the room was full of camera flashes, the waiting press eager to find out what was happening. While it wasn’t totally unheard of for an athlete to hold a press conference, it was unusual for them to do it at the Olympics and so soon after they had left the podium so every single sports journalist had made sure to be present, knowing that something major was going on.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this afternoon. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called this press conference and, given that there are more events this evening that you need to be covering, I’m not going to draw this out for any longer than necessary. I’m here to announce my retirement from competitive archery effective immediately. I’m aware that this may seem like a strange decision given that I’ve just won individual and team gold at my fourth consecutive Olympics but, well, I’m not getting any younger and I’ve had to contend with a few injuries during my preparations and I want to go out of this sport while I’m still at the top of the game. I still have every intention of being involved with archery even if I’m not competing but I have a husband and children and I want to be able to spend more time with them. Now, thank you for your time but I’m going to join my family; my manager Maria Hill will answer any further questions.”


End file.
